


The Tart-Stealing Skeleton

by out_there



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-17
Updated: 2004-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few things more ruthless than Dan around sweet pastries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tart-Stealing Skeleton

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://ngaio.livejournal.com/profile)[**ngaio**](http://ngaio.livejournal.com/) for a quick beta.

"I'm hungry."

The good thing about talking to Dan is that there's a certain level of autopilot involved. After a few years, you develop the ability to hear the comment and reply, without really losing your train of thought. For instance, you can keep concentrating on the Red Wings game and still say, "You're hungry?" and sound as if you're listening.

"I'm starving," Dan whines from the other side of the office.

"Really?" You tap your fingertips on the desk, mentally considering the wording. Too many syllables for a good intro, a little too flowery for a voice-over...

"Starving."

There's no way to salvage it. You delete your last sentence with a sigh. "Is there a chance of you starving to death?"

You catch the movement of Dan nodding out of the corner of your eye. "There is." You can tell it's not a serious problem. If it was a serious problem, Dan wouldn't be whining; he'd be griping. There's a world of difference between serious griping and whining as procrastination.

"There is?"

"There is. There is a definite chance of me starving to death," Dan asserts in his second most pathetic whine. His most pathetic whine usually isn't used until he's three sheets to the wind. Or, at least two sheets to the wind and trying to hoist a third.

"That's not good," you say comfortingly. The response is an answer to his tone, not his words. There's a certain level of consolation required by a good whine.

"It's not good at all. I could starve. I could whither away to nothing."

You frown at the words on your screen, trying to find the line between enthusiastic and fanatical. There is a possibility that you crossed that line three adjectives ago. "Yeah?"

"You could end up hosting the show beside a skeleton."

"A skeleton?"

"A skeleton, Casey. People would walk by and wonder 'Where is Dan Rydell? What happened to that cool and intelligent young man that used to work with you?'"

"Cool and intelligent?" you ask, replacing two of the three adoring adjectives in your script. When you read it over, it sounds much better; excited, not obsessive. It's an important distinction.

"And you would point to the dusty pile of bones, and say, 'That's what happened. He starved to death.'"

"Why?" you ask, removing an extra comma.

"Why?"

You blink for a moment, mentally going over the conversation so far. "They would ask why you starved to death."

"You'll have to tell them it was your fault." When you look over at Danny, he's grinning, dark eyes twinkling in amusement. You wonder if he noticed you weren't paying attention.

Hitting save, you turn to him. "Why was it my fault?"

"You'll have to tell them that he saw this coming. That he was hungry and knew he would starve to death. He knew this and he told you." Danny nods seriously. "And you ignored him."

"I didn't ignore you," you say, feeling yourself start to scowl. It wasn't ignoring. It was... well, something else. But it wasn't ignoring. It would be impossible to ignore Danny.

"I just told you I was hungry," Dan points out, standing up. "And you ignored the desperate plea." He shoots a wretched look at you and at the paper bag lying on your desk.

You roll your eyes and sigh. You were the one who stopped by the bakery, who spent twenty minutes standing in line, and you had planned to savor your prize later.

Danny blinks at you innocently, his miserable look not changing. Holding the bag out to him, you say, "Take my raspberry tart. Since you're *starving*."

"Thanks!" Danny bounds over and snatches it before you can change your mind. When it comes to sweets, he has no sense of shame.

"I wasn't ignoring you," you say, feeling bound to point it out. "I was multi-tasking."

"I don't care."

You glare at him, somewhat offended. "You don't care?"

"The raspberry tart is mine." Danny sits down and pulls the tart out of the bag with something very close to reverence.

You stifle the urge to point out that the raspberry tart is *yours*. You bought it, so it belongs to you. He may be eating it, but it doesn't change your tart-ownership status. "And you don't care if I ignore you?"

Danny shrugs, chewing happily. "Hey, it's not like I listen every time you whine."

You blink, honestly not sure whether you should be offended by that comment. Then he grins at you, raspberry jam smeared across his lips, and you feel your own smile get a little wild. You let your voice drop lower, keeping it just loud enough for Danny to hear. "You know what, Danny?"

"What?" he asks, raspberry tart temporarily forgotten.

You lick your lips, and watch his eyes flicker down. "I'm a bit hungry too."

From the way he shifts in his chair, that comment had the desired effect. You turn back to your screen with a self-satisfied smirk.

"After the show, remind me that I owe you a tart," Danny replies seductively. You look up at that, at his teasing grin and twinkling eyes, and the half-eaten tart in his hand. It's somewhat absurd to flirt over pastry but it's the type of ridiculousness that you've come to expect from him.

"You owe me a tart?" Your voice is low, full of sexual innuendo, but you can't stop your own lips from twitching up.

"After the show," he says, fighting a grin.

You nod back, holding eye contact. Sometimes, it's a matter of pride to see which one of you will start laughing first. "I'll look forward to it."

He does a valiant job of holding a straight face until you waggle your eyebrows at him. Then, he starts to snigger, and pretty soon, both of you are laughing.

This draws Kim's attention. She pops her head in with a raised eyebrow. "What's the joke?"

Taking a deep breath, you point at Danny and say, "Danny's the tart-stealing skeleton."

Danny shakes his head, hiding his eyes behind his hand. Kim blinks at the pair of you, and the confused expression on her face nearly makes you start laughing again.

"I guess you had to be there," Kim says with a shrug, then she spots the half eaten tart. "Hey, if you guys don't want that...?" she starts hopefully but Danny grabs the tart off the table.

"Hands off, it's mine," he says, speaking at last. "I guilted it out of Casey fair and square."

"Fine," Kim huffs, and heads off to do whatever it is that she does around here.

"Fair and square, Danny?"

He grins at you. "You don't begrudge me one little tart, do you, Casey?"

"Just remember what you owe me," you say dryly, turning back to your screen.

He grins. "After the show."


End file.
